Atlantis
by Gambit Gurl Isis
Summary: A mutiny and curse scatter the infamous crew of Jack Sparrow. Nearly seventeen years after the sinking of The Black Pearl and the daughter of the Turner’s is caught in a plot that could cost her very life, and has her only friend, Mr. Sparrow. [Hiatus]


Disclaimer: Disney…please don't hurt me.

Author's Notes: Cue one of the most cliché characters in existence, save the history. Really, I don't know what I was thinking. I'm sorry. I'm really very sorry.

                Thunder boomed through the sky and lightning flashed. The sky was void of rain yet everything was wet by the thrashing of the waves and the uncontrollable whipping of the wind over the ocean. The tormented sea mirrored the churning black sky and was only identifiable because it mirrored the haphazard red flames that licked and grew from the tops of the torches. 

                In this chaotic twisting mass of sky mingled with ocean there jutted two things of great horrible beauty. Formed of jagged rocks, broken pillars of once white stone, there was a great wall of swords that barred the path to the greatest mystery and treasure ever uttered by those who passed over the oceans. Next to these rocks, anchored down to them, there was the great dark ship—The Black Pearl and next to her a smaller sloop who remained nameless from its creation. The remaining crew of The Black Pearl didn't work towards stabilizing the ship but battled amongst themselves. They'd split into two separate factions, those loyal to Jack and those who fought with the woman Helene Andree. 

                The crew fought amongst themselves, mutineers against the loyalists, as the very two people accompanied by their companions fought in a cavern that led through the wall of swords and into the great ancient city of Atlantis. The sounds of swords clashing and metal sliding across rock echoed out from the lowest chamber in the cage of the rock wall. 

                Truly it wasn't really a cavern, for the sky was still visible through the massive entwining bramble of rock, and the water of the waves still spilled down through the sharp granite. It foamed and tumbled through the fingers of the wall and very nearly put out both the torches carried by Will Turner and Joshamee Gibbs. It sloshed along the floors and was splashed up by the shuffling feet of the two fighting.

                "I ne'er did trust you," Jack said with a cool smirk and lunged forward with his blade. His sword was knocked aside by the curved blade of the woman he was fighting.

                "But ye' let me on yer' ship, fancy that," Helene snapped back at him and spun around, landing a hard blow against his sword. The beads on her long filmy skirt clattered and the small shining circles of gold at her skirt's and shirt's hem clinked together as the gypsy fought against the pirate. "You'll never make it to the treasure, Sparrow." 

                "Captain Jack Sparrow, if you please!" Jack punctuated 'captain' by sliding him blade down hers and hooking it on the handle piece. He flung the sword from her hands and she shoved him back, and snatched from his side his very own pistol.

                "Well then Captain Sparrow, if _you_ please." Helene quickly stepped backwards out of sword range, jumped up on the higher platform, and grabbed the unguarded Elizabeth. She pointed the pistol straight to Elizabeth's head and smiled and she inclined her head towards the last of the booby traps that lie before the doors. Elizabeth struggled and Helene pulled back the hammer on the gun. "'Old on there sweetheart, wouldn't want both of you to die with Jack, would we?"

                "Don't hurt her!" Will cried and Gibbs was forced to hold him back lest he cause his wife's demise himself.

                "Oh I won't hurt your precious wife, or your child to be Mr. Turner." Helene grinned sinisterly and Will paled. "Oh you didn't know? Well rest assured—as long as Mr. Sparrow does what I told him, they'll live."

                Will stared into Elizabeth's eyes, searching for the jubilant albeit poorly timed truth, and then looked at the silent and still Jack. Will and Jack stared at each other for a moment and then Jack smiled a bit. He turned to Helene and she stared at him grimly.

                "I can only think a' one way out of this most crushing predicament, love, and it involves a thing I learned from a poor eunuch blacksmith." Jack lifted his sword up slightly and Helene narrowed her eyes at him. She furrowed her brow and then looked up at the great doors before them. Jack lifted his sword again, over his head, and threw it with all the strength he possessed.

                "No!" Helene cried and shoved Elizabeth out of her way in an attempt to get to the door before the sword.

                The sword flew through the air and stuck, firmly, in the head of the great statue that formed the lock on the doors. The sword was embedded halfway to the hilt and there was an eerie ethereal noise almost as if the ocean about let out a moaning cry. The eyes of the statue opened and water began to flow from them. The island lurched and everyone felt it suddenly lowering as it sank, once again, into the ocean.

                "Damn you!" Helene threw the pistol down and reached into her skirt. She ripped a bottle from her skirt, and several of the same variety filled with the same glowing embodiment of the curse on the island clattered to the stone floor. She lifted the bottle above her head and snarled at Jack. "I curse you for this!" She shrieked and Jack turned back to the others.

                "Get out!" Jack called to them and both Will and Elizabeth led the caves as fast as they could but before Gibbs or the rest of the mutinous crew could escape Helene invoked her most powerful curse.

                Helene threw the bottle against the floor and it shattered flinging glass everywhere. The glowing purple liquid within it spread over the water at a phenomenal speed and everyone touched by it was thrown into convulsions. Winding fingers of glowing mist crept up from the surface of the rising water and twisted around the bodies of all those caught in its range. All of them, once pirates, gypsies, or sailors of good repute, were changed. Their bodies by that cursed fluid were bent and turned into creatures akin to the sky or sea.

                Will and Elizabeth escaped the caves and managed back to the deck of the small sloop beside The Black Pearl. The island sank a moment later and took the pearl down with it. The few who'd escaped on the sloop stared down at the sinking islands and watched, with amazement, as birds of all kinds flew up from the water and exploded into the air. The most notable of which was the sparrow that clutched a small bottle of that glowing purple liquid in its talons. There was a great hiss from the ocean and a great foreboding fell over Will and Elizabeth—they were all of them in danger near the sea now.

                "I don't think I'll ever be able to get over that sunrise…." Morgan Elizabeth Turner sighed wistfully as she looked out over the beach and the ocean. The sky was still, mostly, dark and the thin golden disc of the sun had just edged over that elusive horizon. There was a thin layer of fog over the streets but it would burn off quickly in the bright sun.

                "You think so too, don't you?" Morgan leaned in slightly so that she actually occupied her room rather than hanging halfway out the window. She turned and looked down at her periodic visitor, a sparrow, and that sparrow nodded at her before flapping its wings. "Oh I forgot! I'm sorry." Morgan quickly crossed the room and, from the pitcher of water she'd gotten last night before bed, poured out—in a small tray used for burnt matches—a considerable amount of water for her sparrow.

                "Better?" She asked and set the tray down in front of the finicky looking bird. The bird took a long drink, clicked its beak together, and in a most drawling voice responded.

                "I'd prefer rum, but that'll do, love." The sparrow flapped its wings and Morgan shook her head.

                "Birds can't have rum." Morgan stepped back and ignored the indignant chirp the sparrow made. "I wouldn't want to kill you, Mr. Sparrow, because you're the only person I can really talk to about anything beyond the port—well without getting yelled at that is." Morgan took off her coat and searched through her clothes for something to wear, the sparrow let out a long whistle.

                "What are we doin' today, darlin'?" The sparrow cocked its head to one side and watched intently as Morgan dressed in a most plain pair of knickers and threw on a light dress over them.

                "Going swimming over by the tide pools," Morgan replied matter-of-factly as she picked up a dirty bag from under her bed and tossed it over her shoulder.

                "But 'at would be breakin' the carefully crafted and maintained rules and regu'ations of yer' mother an' father," the sparrow warned her halfheartedly.

                "Technically talking to you would qualify as breaking the rules, I'm sure," Morgan responded and held out her arm to the sparrow. "What would they think? They're daughter talking to birds—totally lost her mind, that one." 

                "True," the sparrow agreed and rather unlike other small birds instead of jumping onto her hand it lollopped over with its wings extended slightly to keep it from tumbling over in its nearly drunken swaying. 

                "Quiet now, we've got to sneak past their room," Morgan whispered and set the sparrow on her shoulder. 

                Morgan carefully opened her door and winced as it gave out a squeak. She started down hard word floor and cringed with every step. It seemed that whenever she tried to sneak out the normally quiet complacent world was hell bent on making as much noise as possible. The moment Morgan passed the door she jumped up onto the banister, slid down it past the stairs, and took off at a near run straight out the back door.

                True, Morgan's house wasn't in any way equal to that of the Governor's mansion, but it was the third largest estate in Port Royale. It was, however, the farthest (save for her grandfather's house) from the ocean and that irked Morgan terribly. Whenever she would try to sneak to the main docks she would be caught by someone and sent right back home. In fact, save for the short trips to the ocean by the tide pools (which was so terribly out of the way that no one ever thought to look for her there) she'd never actually experienced the full joy that was the Caribbean. Strangely her friend (who only seemed to drop by once a month) the sparrow both detested and supported this idea that the sea was off limits—but whenever Morgan would ask him to explain he'd respond with gibberish.

                "Here you go." Morgan took the sparrow off of her shoulder and set him down on a particularly dry and sun-bathed rock. Morgan stripped off her dress without much of a second thought and tossed it down on the mildly damp rocks beside her friend (who once more whistled). Morgan took her bag and, with little more preparation than holding her breath, jumped into the cool waters. She came up a moment later, her white underclothes clinging to her and her long dark hair splayed out behind her in the water.

                "'Aye darlin' correct me if I'm wrong, but t'day is yer' birthday, right?" the sparrow drawled and Morgan glanced back at him.

                "Yes, Mr. Sparrow, it is, and I've got this high-toned and fancy to do later today." Morgan wrinkled her nose in disgust and plunged under the water for a moment to retrieve a particularly shiny shell.

                "'Ow old are ye'?" the sparrow asked and Morgan answered quickly before going under the water again.

                "Seventeen." There was a bit of a splash as she took the bag down with her and started filling it with particularly shiny or unique shells.

                "Really," the sparrow commented to itself somewhat sadly, "Seventeen years and yer' parents still 'aven't tol' ya'."

                "What did you say?" Morgan asked offhand as she came up for air—she'd only caught the last syllable and glanced over to see the sparrow shaking his head with a wing up.

                "Not'in."

                The sun rose promptly into the Jamaican sky and the water became more and more inviting with every passing minute and the subsequent degree that accompanied it. The sparrow lounged in one of the small pools that had collected in the shifting of the tide and Morgan had taken to sunbathing on the expanse of smooth rocks. Her feet dangled off the edge of the rocks, into the lapping and crashing waters, and the rest of her was contently soaking up the sun.

                "Can't you tell me a story, Mr. Sparrow?" Morgan asked out of the blue and broke the comfortable silence between them. The sparrow fluttered its wings and pondered a response to this question—she'd never asked him to tell her anything.

                "Why would ye' be wantin' that?" the sparrow asked but Morgan just lay with her eyes closed, soaking up the sun.

                "You fly everywhere, you have such freedom," Morgan started and let out a sigh. "Surely you've had at least one adventure worth telling!"

                "Well, love, it's me impression 'at yer' parents might not be 'ppreciating me particular tales." The sparrow hopped up on a piece of rock by her head and she squinted up at his silhouetted form.

                "My parents don't like adventure of any kind!" Morgan laughed. "I've never seen my father every actually use one of his swords and mother never does anything more daring than wear a corset."

                "Ye'd be surprised," the sparrow replied vaguely and Morgan furrowed her brow. "But I guess I could be persuaded to tell ye' a tale of the High Seas, for a small price."

                "Name it!" Morgan sat up quickly and the bird stumbled back a bit.

                "Careful wiv' the goods, darlin'!" the sparrow reprimanded her and fluttered his wings once. "I'd be greatly appreciatin' some fine rum tonight—in celebration an' all."

                "Well…." Morgan considered this for a moment, bit her lip and then looked back at him. "Deal! But not too much, I don't want you so drunk you'd fly into anything."

                "Very well then, we 'ave an accord!" The sparrow hopped up—a first in Morgan's eyes—and lifted its wings before it began. "Didja' ever hear the tale of The Black Pearl?"

                "You know I haven't…" Morgan responded and sat, eagerly awaiting this tale from such a traveled creature.

                The sparrow started a fanciful and slightly indulgent retelling of how the ravishing, dashing, and all around swashbuckling pirate Captain Jack Sparrow helped the poor and lowly carpenter Robert Turnwall save his beloved Ophelia Crane from the evil Captain Barbossa who'd stolen his ship—The Black Pearl and then became cursed due to an Aztec treasure. He told about how Jack had all but miraculously saved them from a deserted island by commandeering the ship of the bumbling Commodore Borringcog and had caught up with The Black Pearl and Barbossa on Isla Del Muertos. He finished with how Jack ingeniously planned to take a piece of the treasure and then single-handedly saved them all and escaped on his ship.

                "An 'at's the story of the Curse of The Black Pearl." The sparrow bowed and Morgan clapped as hard as she could—she didn't bother to hide the wide grin on her face.

                "Amazing! Can you tell me another one about that Captain Jack Sparrow, Mr. Sparrow?" Morgan laughed and stared at the bird with intense curiosity.

                "I'd love ter' but don't you have something high n' fancy ter do?" The sparrow motioned up at the dusky sky and Morgan nearly jumped in surprise.

                "Oh no! The party!" Morgan scrambled to her feet, snatched her bag, and pulled her dress harshly back over her head. The sparrow didn't have time to inform her that her dress was on backwards as she took off at a mad run towards her house. "I have just enough time to get dressed and up to grandfather's!" Morgan managed to say even through her heavy breathing as she bounded over and through the sharp rocks and out into the unpopulated back alley. She ran quick enough around the corners and over the stones that the sparrow had to nearly constantly flap its wings to keep pace, but finally they reached the back door of the Turner estate and were up the stairs in less than a heartbeat. 

                "Where's that bloody dress?" Morgan shouted as she started throwing things out of her closet with little regard to the cleanly state of her room. The sparrow would have mocked her for her dirty language but she cut him off. "Here it is!" she cried jubilantly and very nearly tore off her clothes to change into fresh ones. She'd hardly listened to the appreciative whistles the sparrow gave her when she changed from her old underclothes (which smelt distinctly of ocean water) and into her new, and was fully dressed in a grand total of two minutes.

                "Have you seen my sash?" Morgan asked as she hurriedly swept her long straight hair into a bun and put on her hat. 

                "It's o'er on the chair." The sparrow lifted a wing and pointed at the half buried piece of furniture.

                "Ah ha!" Morgan exclaimed, threw the excess clothing from the chair to the floor, and snatched up the blue sash that attached to her rather frilly, lacy, and generally prim sky blue dress. "If I had more time—," Morgan mumbled as she held the shoehorn in her mouth and crawled along the floor in search of her matching shoes, "I'd complain about this evil contraption!" Morgan motioned to her hideously prissy dress and crammed her feet into the generally narrow and painful heels that she was forced to wear on a regular basis.

                "What time is it?" Morgan asked as she stood up and swayed backwards slightly.

                "'T's already dark," the sparrow replied with a motion of his head towards the window—Morgan swore under her breath.

                "I've got to go!" She threw open the door and dashed down the stairs, nearly tripping a few times as she stepped on the hem of her dress. She bolted out the front door and starting walking, swiftly, down the street—the sparrow following after her singing a jovial tune that she'd been reprimanded, by her mother, for copying (something the sparrow thought an even greater injustice than being denied rum).

                Elizabeth estimated that it had only taken her around thirty minutes to dress and be up at her grandfather's but whilst she was congratulating herself on a job well done the front door of the mansion opened up and she saw her father frowning at her with one of his eyebrows cocked. (She also noted, with a bit of depression that the sparrow had left her when she'd passed through the front gate.)

                "I know, father, I'm late—." Morgan whispered as she walked up to the door.

                "You're more than just late, you're an hour late and there are more people here than I would know what to do with!" Will said in a more comforting tone than actually scolding—he never was very good at discipline.

                "Oh no…." Morgan took a deep breath and forced a smile on her face as she entered the mansion. 

                The moment the slightly disheveled girl of honor stepped into view whispering spread through the room like wildfire (and it was nearly as hard to stomp out). Morgan walked around and, despite the urging motions from her father and the resolute looks her mother shot at her, she refused to mingle with any of the social class of people that had arrived. They were all terribly boring, terribly snobby, and every single one of them looked down on Morgan for the actions and occupation of her father. It was really quite suffocating to even be near most of the twittering women in their high shoes or the stately gentlemen who would rather be run through than actually express emotion. She was about to give up on the whole evening when something tapped on the window next to her. 

                "What in the world?" Morgan asked quietly, out of reflex, and looked down to find her friend the sparrow nearly smirking up at her—a considerable feat seeing as sparrows are hardly capable of smirking. The sparrow motioned to the group of gentlemen just a few feet off to her right and jerked its head at them. It took her a few moments to realize what it was insinuating and she shook her head. The sparrow gave her a cross look and insisted upon it so, naturally, Morgan gave in and sauntered over.

                "Good day sirs," Morgan said with a sweet and polite tone that most certainly didn't fit her.

                "Good day Miss Turner," the first of the three and the youngest smiled at her and took her hand. He kissed it suavely and Morgan faked a blushing reaction—she really felt that she had to wash that hand immediately, however. "My name is Thaddeus Hatch, and this is my father Baltus Hatch." He motioned to one of the old men who bowed slightly. "This other portly gentleman is my uncle Cornelius Hatch." 

                "Charmed." Morgan curtsied slightly and forced herself to keep up a smile. She had to bite her tongue to keep from speaking when Baltus elbowed Thaddeus slightly and encouraged the younger man to try to get on with her.

                "Would you care to dance, Miss Turner?" Thaddeus asked politely and held out his hand. Morgan bit her tongue again, took his hand, and smiled.

                "I would love to." She lied outright and tried to remain with a jovial façade as he started to waltz with her—to music that was not nearly to Morgan's taste.

                They waltzed in circles for what felt like forever but Morgan, miraculously, managed not to stumble or wretch. She caught sight of the window her sparrow friend was sitting in and it seemed that he thought the current predicament more than just a little funny. In fact, by the looks of his rolling on his back and clicking beak he thought it was simply hysterical. Unfortunately while she was distracted by this small scene she managed to step on the hem of her dress, stumble, and knock the poor Mr. Hatch back into the table that had been laden with refreshments.

                There was a great terrible amount of noise as she fell back into the band who in turn hit the chef who'd come out with her cake, and the table as it collapsed under the new weight of Mr. Hatch. The whole calamity was, however, over in about forty-five seconds. Afterwards the room was left in horrified silence as they observed the chaos before them. But once it started, sadly, it could not be stopped. One girl who was nearly Morgan's age started laughing then the boy next to her and so forth. The laughter, if possible, spread faster than the once whispered rumors. Morgan stood up and withstood nearly a full minute of laughter that was directed solely at her before she nearly ran out of the mansion and towards her house.

                She'd reached the Turner estate and had barricaded herself inside her room long before anyone could have calmed her down. She kicked off her shoes angrily and sat down on her bed, unsure of whether to hire pirates to kill all those she disliked or simply burst into tears. She sucked in her emotion, she'd not cried for years, and simply resigned herself to staring at the floor by her bed in quiet contemplation.

                "If it's any consolation, love, I t'ink ye' looked grand." Morgan looked up to see the sparrow perched on the headboard of her bed and staring down at her.

                "You realize that most of that in there was your fault, right?" Morgan asked acerbically and the sparrow lifted its wings rigidly before falling to the bed as if he'd been shot. Morgan couldn't help but laugh a little.

                "Well at least ye get yer' presents!" The sparrow stood up on her bed and stared up at her.

                "Dresses," Morgan muttered and let out a long sigh.

                "Well I know one of 'em's not a dress," the sparrow said softly and Morgan looked down at him with renewed curiosity.

                "How would you know?" Morgan cocked an eyebrow and the sparrow looked around, trying to pretend he hadn't said anything.

                "I suppose sayin' a little bird tol' me wouldn't suffice as an answer?" The sparrow turned his head slightly and Morgan continued to stare at him quizzically. 

                "What do you know?" Morgan asked and leaned over him, but before he could answer there was a knock at the door.

                "Morgan, honey?" Will's compassionate and all too warm voice came through the door—Morgan could hear her mother whispering to him but couldn't discern the words she was saying. "We have something special for you, would you please open the door?"

                Morgan agreed and opened the door with very little fuss, thinking that it would be the special thing that the sparrow had spoken of, but alas it was simply another dress and a stern talking to by both her parents. Her parents knew that they were most of the reason she didn't fit in but they continually insisted that she was simply strong enough to handle it. They finished their speech and left Morgan to bed with less information and liking for her own birthday than she'd had before they'd come in.

                "They do go on, don't 'ey?" the sparrow popped up from behind her end table and Morgan shrugged.

                "Sometimes." Morgan looked at him and smiled. "Now tell me about this thing you mentioned."

                "Twist me arm, love." The sparrow flapped its wings and lifted up into the air. It glided out the window, landed on the roof nearby, and flew back a moment later with a very heavy bag in its talons. It dropped the bag on her bed and landed on top of it. "This, darlin', is a special gift from yer' godfather."

                "Godfather?" Morgan stared at the bird strangely and turned her head to the side slightly. "I don't have a godfather."

                "Well not one 'at I'd wager ol' Willie and Elizabeth'd wan' ya' ter' know about." The sparrow leaned forward slightly and swayed back. "But, nevertheless, yer' supposed to get these on yer' seventeenth."

                "Why?" Morgan eyed the bird and the old looking bag. 

                "Because one an' seven add up ta' be eight and 'at was his lucky number," the sparrow responded as if it should have been common knowledge and lollopped off of the bag.

                Morgan picked up the tattered old bag and emptied its contents onto her bed. There wasn't much in it really, a few pieces of lint, an old couple of corks from rum bottles, and a bit of something big wrapped in paper and twine. Morgan picked up the small parcel and opened it up, gingerly. She stared down at its contents and blanched slightly at the sight of them.

                "A gold necklace?" Morgan asked and held up the thick gold chain so she could stare at the marble sized golden globe that hung from it. She tapped the globe and stared in astonishment as the bottom half swung down and she could see the glowing pearl like sphere inside it.

                "I'd be closin' that if I were you," the sparrow warned but Morgan just set it down as it was so that she could investigate the second piece of equipment.

                "And a compass?" Morgan opened it and frowned slightly before she recalled the tale that the sparrow had told to her. "A compass that doesn't point north…."

                "I really t'ink ya' 'oughta be closing that necklace, love," the sparrow insisted but Morgan wasn't listening. 

(Secondary notes for my DWDTH fans: No, I haven't shelved the fic. I got a bit stuck and am currently trying to write my way out of it….)


End file.
